JК
The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
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«Saul, your half hour's up.»
Dagenham and Presteign, on either side of Foyle, turned. A tall woman approached, stately in an emerald evening gown, her red hair gleaming. It was Jisbella McQueen. Their glances met. Before the shock could seethe into his face, Foyle turned, ran six steps to the first door he saw, opened it and darted through.
The door slammed behind him. He was in a short blind corridor. There was a click, a pause, and then a canned voice spoke courteously: «You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please retire.»
Foyle gasped and struggled with himself.
«You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please retire.»
«I never knew. . . Thought she was killed out there. . . She recognized me…»
«You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please retire.»
«I'm finished . . . She'll never forgive me . . . Must be telling Dagenham and Presteign now.»
The door from the reception hall opened, and for a moment Foyle thought he saw his flaming image. Then he realized he was looking at Jisbella's flaming hair. She made no move, just stood and smiled at him in furious triumph. He straightened.
«By Cod, I won't go down whining.»
Without haste, Foyle sauntered out of the corridor, took Jisbella's arm and led her back to the reception hall. He never bothered to look around for Dagenham or Presteign. They would present themselves, with force and arms, in due time. He smiled at Jisbella; she smiled back, still in triumph.
«Thanks for running away, Gully. I never dreamed it could be so satisfying.»
«Running away? My dear Jiz!»
«Well?»
«I can't tell you how lovely you're looking tonight. We've come a long way from Couffre Martel, haven't we?» Foyle motioned to the ballroom. «Dance?»
Her eyes widened in surprise at his composure. She permitted him to escort her to the ballroom and take her in his arms.
«By the way, Jiz, how did you manage to keep out of Couffre Martel?»
«Dagenham arranged it. So you dance now, Gully?»
«I dance, speak four languages miserably, study science and philosophy, write pitiful poetry, blow myself up with idiotic experiments, fence like a fool, box like a buffoon . . . In short, I'm the notorious Fourmyle of Ceres.»
«No longer Gully Foyle.»
«Only to you, dear, and whoever you've told.»
«Just Dagenham. Are you sorry I blew your secret?»
«You couldn't help yourself any more than I could.»
«No, I couldn't.
«Saul, your half hour's up.»
Dagenham and Presteign, on either side of Foyle, turned. A tall woman approached, stately in an emerald evening gown, her red hair gleaming. It was Jisbella McQueen. Their glances met. Before the shock could seethe into his face, Foyle turned, ran six steps to the first door he saw, opened it and darted through.
The door slammed behind him. He was in a short blind corridor. There was a click, a pause, and then a canned voice spoke courteously: «You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please retire.»
Foyle gasped and struggled with himself.
«You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please retire.»
«I never knew. . . Thought she was killed out there. . . She recognized me…»
«You have invaded a private portion of this residence. Please retire.»
«I'm finished . . . She'll never forgive me . . . Must be telling Dagenham and Presteign now.»
The door from the reception hall opened, and for a moment Foyle thought he saw his flaming image. Then he realized he was looking at Jisbella's flaming hair. She made no move, just stood and smiled at him in furious triumph. He straightened.
«By Cod, I won't go down whining.»
Without haste, Foyle sauntered out of the corridor, took Jisbella's arm and led her back to the reception hall. He never bothered to look around for Dagenham or Presteign. They would present themselves, with force and arms, in due time. He smiled at Jisbella; she smiled back, still in triumph.
«Thanks for running away, Gully. I never dreamed it could be so satisfying.»
«Running away? My dear Jiz!»
«Well?»
«I can't tell you how lovely you're looking tonight. We've come a long way from Couffre Martel, haven't we?» Foyle motioned to the ballroom. «Dance?»
Her eyes widened in surprise at his composure. She permitted him to escort her to the ballroom and take her in his arms.
«By the way, Jiz, how did you manage to keep out of Couffre Martel?»
«Dagenham arranged it. So you dance now, Gully?»
«I dance, speak four languages miserably, study science and philosophy, write pitiful poetry, blow myself up with idiotic experiments, fence like a fool, box like a buffoon . . . In short, I'm the notorious Fourmyle of Ceres.»
«No longer Gully Foyle.»
«Only to you, dear, and whoever you've told.»
«Just Dagenham. Are you sorry I blew your secret?»
«You couldn't help yourself any more than I could.»
«No, I couldn't.